Prophetess of Light
by Michelle Templer
Summary: After his defeat, Pitch Black vows to destroy the child that thwarted all his plans, yet he is intrigued by the woman connected to young Jamie. He dwells deep into her history and origins and decides how best to use her to destroy the Guardians. But wasn't there a saying that opposites attract?
1. The Artist

Chapter One: The Artist

* * *

The rain tumbled down in heavy drops. The air was humid, but the wind was merciless. Catherine Lewis had long since forgone her umbrella and decided to let the rain drench her skin. She hadn't gotten caught in the rain since she was a child and it was nice to do it again after so long. Walking up the driveway and into the small two bedroom house her mother had left her when she died over a year ago, Catherine let out a quiet sigh.

Loneliness. That was what she felt. She had friends, but she seldom saw them. She had an older sister, but they were estranged. Her father she never knew and the aunt she so loved and adored lived far away. Most days it was just her all by herself in front of the television or a walk up the local mountain for her daily exercise.

She was only twenty two and was already living the life of a woman who was past fifty, single and married to her job. She grimaced at that. It wasn't entirely true. Catherine quite liked her job as an assistant in a childcare centre. She loved children. At least other people's children. She never fancied having any herself though. Childcare tended to be a deterrent to that.

Starting the stove and grabbing out a deep pan and a saucepan to make spaghetti for dinner, Catherine idly listened to the news. Reports of some heavy rain and thunderstorms for the week were ahead as well as a fall in the Australian economic system. Well it wouldn't affect her too much so she considered herself lucky. Next came a social investigation for the rise of paranoia and depression among the adolescent youth. Doctors had found a striking correlation between frequent night terrors during middle childhood and the aforementioned cognitive functioning later in life.

It wasn't that it was the cause, for there were many causes and correlations for mental illnesses, but this was a striking new discovery in the recent decade. No one knew exactly why. Some doctors blamed it on unhealthy processed food destroying the building blocks of the brain; others blamed it on social entertainment like violent movies and videogames. Some blamed it on childhood trauma.

Catherine turned the TV off. She wasn't in the mood to listen to anything depressing even though psychology intrigued her. However listening to such things about childhood nightmares only sufficed to painfully remind her of all the horror stories her mother had told her as a child. Not to scare her of course. Her mother, Lena Lewis, was simply into the dark side of things. Her favourite genre was horror and she liked myths, fantasies and books on anything darkly mysterious or macabre romance.

And then her mother got sick. Mentally at first. Catherine wasn't exactly sure what her mother had been diagnosed with, but it had been some form of psychosis. It had started with night terrors where her mother would twist and turn and thrash about in her sleep. To the point where she sweated out on the sheets.

She had mumbled things about an apocalypse, Guardians and darkness. Things Catherine had absolutely no way of deciphering or understanding. Still, she put up with it. Medication didn't help at all, but Catherine didn't have the heart to leave her mother in a mental institution. Her mother wasn't dangerous either so it wasn't that bad.

However next came the failing of her health. When Catherine had convinced her paranoid mother to leave the house and visit the doctor, she was slapped with the most shocking news of her life. Her mother was diagnosed with small-cell carcinoma. The most aggressive form of lung cancer.

Catherine wasn't sure how her mother would take it, but even in that she didn't have to worry. Her mother was too far gone to understand what her situation was. When Catherine had stayed beside her at the hospital holding her mother's hand, Lena Lewis in her last gasps for breath kept telling her to 'make him remember.'

Who Lena was talking about, Catherine couldn't fathom. And what she meant, Catherine had no idea. Still, her words left an impact on her even if they were simply the ravings of a madwoman. Swallowing hard, Catherine decided to head to the backroom where useless junk and her mother's belongings were stashed.

When she had packed it all up, she hadn't cared to properly look at what she was packing away. The reminder was too painful, but now she thought she would. Breathing deeply, she opened the store cupboard moving back as a few items fell out and tumbled on to the floor. She hadn't bothered to organize any of it since it had all been thrown in here at haste.

After a moment's contemplation, Catherine reached in and pulled everything out. Her mother's clothes, photo albums and frames, trinkets, CD's and books. A few of her large artwork folders came out as well. Her mother was a good artist, but Catherine was perplexed at the last folder that fell out. All of them were dated by year at the front. Some even before she and her sister were born.

However as she bent down to pick up the latest one, which was understandably lighter than the rest, she noticed it was dated the same year Lena Lewis had died. Curiosity piqued, Catherine decided to sit down crossed legged on the floor. Outside the storm raged.

Carefully opening the older, Catherine caught sight of several papers artfully sketched and coloured in. She looked at the first with a bemused smile. A picture of Santa Clause although he looked gruffer than what his persona was usually portrayed as. He even had an Italian look about him and Catherine found herself impressed by the tattoos her mother had skilfully added in to his bulging muscular arms.

It was a good picture though and she considered framing it. Putting it aside, she looked at the next one to see a beautiful female fantasy creature. Something crossed between a fairy along with the various vibrant colours of a peacock. Catherine was amazed at the details her mother had given to the creature's eyes. The intensity of the violet in them as well as the different shades.

Her mother had dubbed the creature Toothiana. Queen of the tooth fairies. With a pang in her heart, Catherine looked away from the picture. Was this what her mother had been on about in her maddened drivel? Childhood fantasies? She looked at the Santa picture again and realized Nicholas had been written at the bottom. Her mother had frequently said his name, but Catherine had no idea her mother had been referring to St Nicholas. Reaching into the sleeve she pulled out the next picture.

It was a matter painting using glitter and sand and was a representation of her mother's idea of the sandman. It was cute, she noted dryly. And very cleverly done.

Intrigued she turned to the next one, which she found the most remarkable of all. It was a picture of a young boy. Actually two of him and she wasn't sure if it was twins or two different personas of the same boy. Judging by what her mother had written it was the one boy. Jack Frost. An adolescent between fourteen or sixteen. One was of him with brown hair and dark eyes in clothing that was centuries old. Another was him dressed moderately in a hoodie, but he had platinum hair and ice blue eyes. He was also holding a wooden staff that was curved at the top and had snowflakes all around him. To be honest, she was surprised her mother had drawn him. He wasn't a very well-known legend and even in her childhood she rarely heard anything about him other than words of expression. Her aunt certainly used the term more frequently than most people.

She placed him aside and almost laughed despite herself when she saw her mother's representation of the Easter bunny. A brawn tall rabbit that held a boomerang. Completely Aussie. A loud crack of thunder interrupted her thoughts and realizing she had food on the stove, she hastily placed back the pictures she had taken out and put the folder in her room. She would look at the rest of her mother's artwork later.

* * *

"So this Friday will be your last shift for the next two months right?" Her co-worker and room leader Erin remarked as she made sure the pre-school children were eating their lunch. Catherine had been on cooking duty today and had made beef stroganoff with rice. Salad wraps had been made for the children with dietary restrictions.

"Yeah, finally got my long service leave approved. I have so much leave that they were going to have to force me to take a holiday, but didn't want to at the time because of the low staff. With Monica on her honeymoon and Jacqueline on sick leave, they are going to have to make do with casuals." Erin chuckled and quickly scolded one of the young boys who was throwing food. Catherine sighed and swept some of it up.

"So all the way to America huh?" Catherine nodded.

"My aunt Libby is going through a divorce and needs some support. I feel sorry for Bill though. He really is a good man, but it seems my aunt can no longer stand him. In truth she needs someone to take care of the children until matters are finalized. That is where I come in, but nonetheless, I am grateful for a holiday. The town she lives in is very nice so I am sure I'll enjoy myself."

"Hmmm," Erin mused as she arranged custard in ice cream cones for the children's desert. Catherine went about helping those who had finished pour any left overs in the bin and set their plates down into the bucket.

"How many kids does your aunt have?"

Catherine ran her fingers through her hair.

"Two. A son Jamie and a daughter Sophie. Jamie is almost finished primary school and Sophie will be starting year two."

Erin began handing out the custard cones and Catherine settled down a few children who were being too loud. The anticipation of desert though kept them at bay and allowed for some temporary silence other than the crunching of the cones.

"Your cousins are quite young."

Catherine merely shrugged.

"Libby was many years younger than my mother."

The week went by faster than Catherine expected and she was glad for it. She missed her two little cousins and was wondering how much they had grown. However she was more worried about her aunt. She hadn't been told thethe particulars of Libby's marriage breakdown, but Libby claimed Bill was simply a bad influence on the children by filling their heads with silly ideas instead of teaching them reality.

In truth, Catherine hadn't expected it. Even though Bill and Libby were polar opposites, from what Catherine knew, their marriage was a happy one. But why should she be so surprised? Libby was a clear level headed woman while Bill was far too optimistic a dreamer. Libby was the main breadwinner of the family and Bill took odd jobs around the place. It brought in good money, but it seemed her aunt was tired of his impracticalities.

In hindsight she couldn't blame her. Bill was from a gypsy culture and though he had reconciled himself to Libby's beliefs, her aunt couldn't do the same. Whatever the case, Catherine made a mental note to comfort Bill as well. He was a good man and this was going to be hard on him.

Making sure she had packed everything, Catherine glanced over at the folder of her mother's artwork. Chewing her inner cheek for a moment, she decided to bring it. Jamie loved these sorts of stories and no doubt he would appreciate the art. Perhaps she'd let him choose one to keep and they could go out together and buy a frame. With that idea in mind, she packed the folder into her suitcase and decided she was going to enjoy the next nine weeks in America.

* * *

Deep in the dark shadows of his lair, Pitch Black meditated in quiet contemplation. He had done so here for many years since his defeat. For a long time he had been burning in anger, rage and humiliation, but now he had settled into quiet solitude. The solitude gave him time to think and with that he was able to plan. Plan again.

He wanted revenge and he wanted revenge badly. He wanted the Guardians to suffer the humiliation and pain they had inflicted upon him. He wanted them to feel unquenchable desperation over something they could not save. He wanted them to suffer. Particularly Jack Frost.

However doing so required him to understand where he went wrong. And it was with deep mortification that it was all because of one stupid little boy that believed. He gritted his teeth in anger. His blood boiled.

Well two could play at that game.

He was surprised he hadn't thought of it before, but he had been too busy brooding over his defeat to actually consider it. The boy, Jamie Peters…

He believed in _him. _He believed in Pitch Black.

That was why he was able to see him. And though the boy claimed not to fear him, Pitch realized it was only because the Guardians were around. But what would the boy feel when they were not?

He grinned wickedly. The plan was simple. The boy believed in him, which meant that Pitch could take him away from his home and from everything he knew. All the way to a world of fear, nightmare and sorrow. He would break that boy and Jack Frost wouldn't be able to do anything about it. And when Jack Frost was at his weakest, that would be the time to strike.


	2. Jamie

Chapter Two

* * *

When Catherine first set foot outside the airport, she was amazed at all the snow. It rarely ever snowed in Australia and to find such a place required a trip past Canberra all the way up to the mountains in Thredbo. Regardless, she was enjoying the fresh crisp air. It wasn't long before a horn beeped and Libby's navy blue BMW pulled up on the side.

Immediately her aunt got out and with wide open arms hugged her niece. "My God Cate! How you have grown." Catherine smiled shyly at her aunt. She couldn't really say her aunt was looking well because she was not. Her skin was unusually pallid although that might have been due to the weather. There were deep bags under her eyes though and Catherine had the sneaking suspicion it was due to stress with the state of things at home.

"It's so good to see you again Libby," she said quietly. With a weak smile, her aunt helped her gather her luggage in the car and off they drove. Before they talked about anything serious, Catherine spent her time marvelling at the scenery and how peculiar it was to drive on the right side of the road. Libby chuckled and claimed the logic was the other way round. Soon the car fell into a peaceful silence and after a short while Libby decided to break it.

"So Bill finally moved out," she said flatly. If there was any regret in her voice, Catherine couldn't detect it. Libby had always been good at hiding her emotions. Catherine stared ahead and was careful to keep her expression bland. "I see," she said and added, "how are the kids taking it?"

Libby's face was grim and Catherine felt her throat ache in a pang of sympathy. "Not well. Especially Jamie. He's twelve and as much as I would like to blame his attitude on young adolescence, I know that its not it. He blames me. Blames me for it all. But he can't see that Bill has made him like this." Catherine remained silent, waiting for her aunt the elaborate on the particulars. As a prompt she cleared her throat and said "what has Bill done?"

Libby's fingers tightened around the steering wheel to the point where her knuckles turned white. "Filling their heads with silly ideas. It is fine to believe in these childish things like the Easter bunny and Jack Frost, but you'd think they'd move away from it now." Catherine raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Was it really all about this?

"Libby…" she began trying to think of how to explain this without sounding rude or judgemental. "Jamie and Sophie are still very young. And though I agree they are a little too old for it, it isn't entirely abnormal." Her aunt was not to be perturbed. She shook her head.

"No you don't understand. They really believe them to be real. Too real. Very real. They have both made up elaborate stories about these mythological creatures to the point that their lives are consumed by it. Jamie's grades have been slipping at school because of how much he adores his best friend Jack Frost and how the Man in the Moon might make him a Guardian."

Well it explained it a little, but Catherine didn't think that was the whole problem.

"It isn't uncommon for children to have imaginary friends."

Libby scoffed and indicated to turn right. They were in the main town now.

"I know, but this…this is too much. Jamie's whole life is consumed by it. With Sophie, I allow more leeway because she is barely eight, but Jamie will be starting high school soon. You'll have to see them to understand. You don't know how worried I am Cate. I am worried that later in life Jamie might get sick. Just like…"

Libby stopped herself and checked Catherine's grave face for any sign of offence. Thankfully her niece decided to finish the sentence for her. "Like my mother?" An awkward silence ensured as her aunt hesitated and swallowed hard.

"Yes. Like your mother."

Catherine felt a wave of sympathy. Lena's death had been hard on her aunt and no doubt her death had contributed to the breakdown of Libby's marriage. Catherine however was sure her mother was merely used as an excuse for Libby's acidic battles against Bill.

"I doubt you should worry if you are thinking of genetics. You know that Lena was adopted."

Her aunt gave a sigh.

"It is easy to forget that."

If she could have, Catherine would have hugged her.

"So I don't think you need to worry. I am sure it is just a phase and it is just Jamie's way of imagination. Pretend play and imaginary friends are beneficial for children's cognition you know."

Libby however was not convinced.

"When you see them you will understand," was all she said.

_Yes _Catherine conceded. That was what it all came down to. Catherine was so sure that Libby was overreacting over nothing, but what else could she say?

"What does all this have to with Bill?"

Libby turned onto the main road. Ice and snow covered the streets. It was the middle of winter.

"He is responsible for their silly thoughts. Indulging them, letting them believe it to be true. Not focusing on important things like their school work or sports. Did you know Jamie gave up soccer? He sleighs now, but hasn't asked for me to take him to any professional classes. Regardless, it is not even a normal decent sport anyway. And Bill sees nothing wrong with it."

Catherine wasn't sure what to say to that. To her so far, it seemed that Libby was the problem. Being unable to cope with her children properly at this point. Not uncommon and as far as psychology was concerned, the rearing of children was the most difficult part of marriage when it came to intimate relationships between couples.

"Is that all?"

Her aunt scoffed.

"Of course not. Things are so different when you're young you know? You think that marriage means life, but then things change."

Catherine smiled.

"You're not that old Libby. You're only thirty five."

Her aunt smiled at her in appreciation.

"Thanks. But anyway I know I cannot spend the rest of my life with Bill. Things are expensive now. Life is hard here in America. You know we are still in the middle of an economic recession. He's not educated, he won't find any solid work and I am tired of his chauvinist views. You know I can't entirely blame him, but he expects this subservient door mat for a wife and I can't be that. His parents and brothers scorn me. Their wives consider me a disgrace to their gypsy culture and quite frankly I want none of it influencing my children."

It was as she thought. Libby has reached her breaking point and enough was enough.

With a sigh Catherine said the only thing she could think of to say.

"Well whatever the case I am here to support you and the children."

* * *

Jaime Peters was no ordinary boy. Well he use to be ordinary, but he was no longer.

In fact Jaime had matured tremendously over the years even though his school grades didn't reflect it. He was no longer the same boy he use to be and he was content with that.

Quietly he sat on one of the decaying wooden chairs in the park. Far-off he could hear other children playing and he couldn't help but frown. To be honest he missed playing like that. Playing like his friends. Hell, playing with his friends.

Except he no longer had any.

They had all grown up. Well, grown out of it because he didn't consider them to be very mature at all. It had been fun for a few years, remembering that night when all the Guardians had saved them from the darkness of Pitch Black and remaining friends with them afterwards except they had stopped believing.

With the prospects of starting middle school, his former friends decided to put off childish things. Things like the Guardians. They brushed the whole affair off that night as nothing more than a vivid dream and scorned him when he refused to do the same. Of course after the event they couldn't see the Guardians, but had believed strongly thereafter.

Now that all had changed. It was nothing more than childish imaginations they had told him. Imaginations he was refusing to let go off. Some of them blamed it all on the death of his Aunt Lena who often visited them around Christmas all the way from Australia. In pity it spared him from bullies. Others blamed it on his immaturity and unwillingness to grow up and face reality. His mother in particular, blamed it on his father who let him be whatever he wanted to be.

That was the worst part of it and he couldn't help but feel all of it was his fault. Dad was gone now and all he and Sophie had were their Guardian friends. At least Jack Frost and Bunnymund were frequent visitors.

Sighing he looked critically at his sketch. He wasn't a good drawer, but he was determined to get better. Aunt Lena had been a good drawer and had spoiled him abundantly with crafts and artworks.

* * *

Catherine had observed him quietly from the trees. When she and Libby had arrived home, none of the children were there. Sophie was staying at a friend's house and Jamie had left a note saying he had gone to the park. After settling down and arranging all her things, Catherine too said she would head to the park. Libby was kind enough to give her directions and to call her if she got lost, but Catherine was sure she could handle it.

Making sure her beanie protectively covered her ears and blowing some warm air into her gloved hands, she headed down the side walk admiring the picturesque view and quaint little town her aunt lived in. The park was a large one with many twists and turns, but also with many signs for directions. There were also a lot of squirrels about, which Catherine found fascinating because there were none in Sydney.

It wasn't long until she found him. Sitting there quietly all by himself with a sketchbook in hand. Catherine pursed her lips a little and wondered where all his friends were. Was he really out here all alone? By himself?

She scrutinized him harder. He was a handsome boy and had grown tremendously over the years. He was tall for his age and more mature looking. Perhaps Libby was having trouble dealing with a son on the brink of puberty. But what Catherine noticed about him the most was that he was very detached. Indifferent to everything around him and it bothered her.

Deciding not to waste any more time, she approached him.

He didn't notice her as she peered over his shoulder, but after some time, she decided to break the silence.

"That's a very nice picture of Jack Frost you're drawing." Jamie went still and then looked up at her. Recognition dawned on his face and the biggest smile made its way to his lips.

"Cate!" He exclaimed. Catherine smiled and made her way around the seat to hug her little cousin.

"How you been mate? It's been so long since I have seen you. You've grown tall."

"Fatter," he replied. Catherine smiled and then directed her eyes to his drawing. At twelve, he didn't have the artistic talent of her mother, but she could see the similarities.

"Is that how Jack Frost is portrayed these days? A teenage boy with white hair and a hoodie?"

Jamie chuckled and briefly scrutinized his drawing.

"He changes with time."

She wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but decided not to question.

"Well I am glad to see you are quite the artist. I brought some wonderful presents for you so you'll be able to make use of them."

He cast her a dubious raised brow.

"It isn't another stuffed toy kangaroo is it?"

Catherine looked at him innocently and hopped up.

"Of course not."

He stood up with her.

"It's a koala," she said and heard him groan.

Nonetheless, he followed her out of the park and proceeded to tell her the details about all she had missed in the last few years.

* * *

"So what do you think?" Libby asked her when the children were asleep.

Catherine stared into her hot chocolate drink and contemplated.

"I really don't know. He could just be an imaginative little boy or it could be something else." Catherine didn't really want to mention what that something else was. To think that it had happened to little Jamie was frightening to say the least.

Libby rubbed her temples and Catherine found herself feeling sorry for her again.

"Do you think I should take him to a psychologist?"

Catherine hesitated a few moments. This could all probably be nothing, but yet at twelve years old it was unusual to believe that such an event was actually a reality.

"Are you sure he isn't joking about it? I mean does he really believe that the _bogeyman _tried to take over the world with his nightmares of darkness _and_ that these Guardians and he tried to stop it?"

Libby glared at her sharply. "Did he give any indication that he thought it was a joke?" She snapped.

Catherine winced. Clearly her aunt had already considered that possibility.

"No," she admitted.

Her only explanation was that something else had happened. Something so bad that Jamie had created this whole storyline of ideas to deal with the pain. Pitch Black obviously represented that something and those Guardians were his way of coping with the agony. That or he was just exceptionally imaginative.

Yet the more she thought about it, the more she believed the former to be true. Jamie was obsessed with these creatures. His whole room spoke about it tenfold and so did his personality. It was all he could focus on.

Perhaps projective testing by a psychologist might underline the deeper meaning behind it all, yet Catherine had never been a big shipper of the Freudian Psychoanalytic theory. She was sure there were more plausible explanations for this bordering on social upbringing and environment. Perhaps this escape into fantasy was Jamie's way of coping with his parent's divorce. There were many psychosomatic theories to test in such cases regardless.

"If you really want to, I suppose you can. They might ask him some questions, have him draw some pictures and if there are any concerns, have him come back for more observation. But I don't know Libby. It really may be nothing. He doesn't seem to be altered in his behaviour other than enthusiasm, no signs of childhood anxiety or depression. However if you think it is best than do what you think is best for your child."

Mental illness could manifest itself in many forms and whatever happened to Jamie could have been blotted out by his mind. It might explain why he didn't seem so unhappy. Yet she wanted to kick herself for such thoughts. The boy was only twelve, had a good up-bringing and loving parents. There was no reason for him to be sick.

She was just being paranoid and thinking too much about this because of her mother,

There was nothing wrong with Jamie. He was just different.

Right?


End file.
